Worth It
by Gold
Summary: OshiGaku. Sequel to Of Peacock's Thighs and Moonlit Balconies.
1. Chapter 1

© 2006 Gold

**Title**: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In The Name of Love 2016, otherwise known ss: Worth It (Sequel to Peacock's Thighs) Part 1/3

**Pairing:** Oshitari/Gakuto. There is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it hint of the Silver Pair.  
**Rating:** PG.  
**Disclaimer: **_Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis _. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.

**Summary:** Sequel to _Of Peacock's Thighs and Moonlit Balconies_. Set two years later, in 2016. This part is Gakuto-centric, with guest appearances from Oshitari, Atobe and Shishido. Ohtori is name-dropped in passing.  
**Notes:** The writing style here is more sparse and direct, and the change from the style in _Peacock's Thighs_ is deliberate.

* * *

It is already well past one in the morning.

Mukahi Gakuto, comfortably buried up to his nose under his favourite duvet, turns over and cracks open a single, bright eye.

The alarm clock sitting on the mahogany dresser within arm's reach tells Gakuto that it is exactly one-thirty-three and sixteen seconds into the morning. Already, Gakuto muses happily, it is the next day.

There is a small, secret smile on Gakuto's face that grows wider as he reaches out one spindly arm from underneath the warm covers of his bed. The dresser is well within reach; Gakuto's fingers drop nearly to the carpet as they hook themselves around the intricately carved handlebar of the lowest drawer of the dresser. The drawer opens with a little exertion of strength; the fingers feel their way across, sliding under mounds of silk, satin and cotton boxers and briefs (and maybe a thong or two). Gakuto's fingers are quick to locate the tiny box that is stashed away in the furthest corner of the drawer, under Gakuto's favourite cranberry-red-and-black silk-and-net boxer shorts.

Gakuto presses the tiny, velvet-covered box to his cheek. Inside the box, nestled in satin, is a handsome, broad platinum band, set with a brilliant, square-cut solitaire diamond. It is an extremely expensive ring, purchased from one of the world's best-known luxury jewellers, and it has cost Gakuto almost all the pay he has received for the last eight months, but it is worth it… if Yuushi says yes.

Gakuto's eyes are very dark and dreamy.

He has known Yuushi for a long time… more than a decade, to be honest. They had met in junior high as schoolboys, when Oshitari Yuushi was the tall, dark and very handsome outsider from Kansai who had come all the way to Tokyo to attend his father's alma mater, Hyoutei.

Natives of Kansai are not exactly welcomed as part of upper-crust Tokyo. Yet Oshitari Yuushi's arrival at Hyoutei earned him legions of Hyoutei fangirls overnight, catapulting him into the Number Two ranking on the Hyoutei slate of eligible bachelors, right after the school prima donna, Atobe Keigo. Oshitari Yuushi's best selling point turned out to be his voice, once you got past the fact that he was tall, dark and utterly gorgeous. His voice had been charmingly mellow when it broke; when it was done with puberty, it had ripened into the smoothest, deepest, warmest baritone in Hyoutei. Paired with his Kansai accent, Oshitari Yuushi's voice was softened into a deliciously seductive drawl that nearly (but not quite) garnered him more satin-ribboned boxes of chocolates than Atobe Keigo for at least a couple of Valentine's Days.

Gakuto's very first conversation with Yuushi was, of course, on the courts of Hyoutei.

It had been a beautiful day in May then, just a month after school had begun, and Atobe Keigo had been playing with the first-team regulars, just because he could. For the rest of the plebeian (non-regular, non-Atobe) population of the tennis club, club time and therefore tennis practice was officially over for the day. Gakuto had remained in the stands, however, long after the courts (save for the ones being used by the regulars and Atobe) had been cleared.

"Hmm."

Gakuto had glanced at the tall, dark form in the stands about five feet from him. It was the new boy from Kansai, with the pleasant, mellow voice and the dark good looks that the girls in their class liked so much. Gakuto noticed that this boy held his tennis racket the same way that Atobe Keigo did—with an ease and familiarity that made it seem as if he and the racket flowed as one.

The boy had then pushed up his glasses with one hand and his lips had curved into a slow, deep, and surprisingly warm smile. "Mukahi-san."

"Oshitari-san." Gakuto had tossed a quick nod at the tall boy from beneath his bangs.

There was a long silence as they watched Atobe Keigo coolly take two games in a row from Hyoutei's third-ranked singles player.

"So, how long have you been playing tennis?" Oshitari had then asked, casually breaking the silence.

Startled by the sudden question, Gakuto had answered without thinking: "Five years." He had stopped speaking just as abruptly, and had shot a lightning-quick glance at Oshitari. This boy could tell that he played tennis. Not to be outdone, Gakuto had lifted his chin. "How long have _you_ been playing tennis?"

Oshitari's smile had remained steady. "Three years."

With _that_ kind of tennis form?!

Gakuto had stared at him. "What are you, a _tensai_?" he had blurted out.

Oshitari had blinked. Then he had quirked his eyebrows and his smile had broadened. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, _duh_, you hold your racket like Atobe-san," Gakuto had sniffed. Like any idiot couldn't tell.

Oshitari had tilted his head slightly. "Really? How so?"

"Don't be an idiot," Gakuto had snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's not as if I can describe it in words. You just _look_ it. If you can hold the racket like Atobe-san, you probably can play just as well as he can. Not everybody can hold it like that, you know. Plus you _know_ what I mean, so stop pretending to be stupid, 'cause you're not. It's stupid to pretend to be stupid!"

Oshitari had actually looked like he was considering that statement seriously, which had made Gakuto decide then and there that not only was Oshitari Yuushi annoying, he was also a real dork. _Very_ uncool. The girls in the school must have been blind to fall for this guy. This was it, Gakuto was going off. He didn't want to be seen in the company of a dork. Gakuto was _very_ particular about whom he wanted to be seen with!

"You know, Mukahi-san…"

Gakuto had picked up his tennis bag, slung it over his shoulder, and decided to ignore Oshitari Yuushi. Especially when the Kansai boy was using a bedroom voice like that!

"… would you like to play a game or two?"

Gakuto had halted. Without looking over his shoulder, he had raised his voice. "In case you didn't notice, Oshitari-san, there are no tennis courts here that we are allowed to play on." He didn't care if _kantoku_ heard it, or Atobe. It was true.

"But there are street tennis courts."

"No balls can bounce off that kind of surface, the way they treat it," Gakuto had retorted, beginning to walk on. Was Oshitari joking? Street tennis courts were so badly maintained that there was barely any surface to play on!

"Mukahi-san—"

"You two over there, shut up!" someone had roared.

Gakuto had whirled around. "Shut up yourself!"

Gakuto absolutely hated being told what to do, particularly when the person mouthing him off was Shishido Ryou, whose prima donna-ness rivalled only Atobe Keigo. Shishido had been young and hasty then, and Gakuto would always remember that it was Shishido who fired the first ball then.

The tennis ball flew, swift and golden, and Gakuto had whipped out his trusty racket to hit it back.

However, someone else had been faster than him.

A tall, dark, lanky someone, with dark, clever eyes behind a pair of oval-framed glasses, and a quick, _very_ quick interception.

Gakuto's snarl of irritation had nearly bitten his tongue into two. "_What_ the—!"

"Missed!" Shishido Ryou had crowed from his end, whacking the ball back.

But Gakuto had been prepared. With a roar of "Mine!" he did a quick flip and a one-hand somersault, then smashed the ball in Shishido's direction.

Suddenly, just like that, they were playing ball. In the stands of grand old Hyoutei's tennis courts, no less. Never mind that _kantoku_ would later give them pick-up duties (pick up balls, clear tennis court, etc. after-club clean-up duties) for the rest of the year. After that, the great Atobe Keigo deigned to take notice of them, and added them to his exclusive list of opponents. And thereafter, there existed a sort of armed neutrality between Shishido and Gakuto, at least until the next time they decided to butt heads and compete for bigger mouths. That little incident also led to the strangest of all relationships—a grudgingly respectful friendship between Mukahi Gakuto and Oshitari Yuushi that would ripen over time and spawn one of most unbelievable and most successful doubles partnerships in the history of the Hyoutei boys' tennis club.

The Oshitari-Mukahi doubles pairing of the early twenty-first century has been responsible for much of the silverware and glittering gold-plated medals that thronged the trophy cases of the Hyoutei boys' tennis club. It was a pairing that had been put together, so rumour had it, because _kantoku_ was bored one day and decided to have some fun. People said _kantoku_ was mad the day he put the Oshitari-Mukahi pairing together; after they won their first match against an older, more experienced doubles pair in a love set, people started calling _kantoku_ a genius and a sly strategist. The real story behind it is known only to Oshitari and Gakuto, and witnesses have sworn that their faces have been seen to go an interesting shade of green whenever this is mentioned.

Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto had exceedingly different styles of play. For one thing, Oshitari was a superb singles player. Gakuto, whilst being a tennis player excellent enough to easily rank within the top twelve in the two-hundred-strong tennis club by his second year, was nowhere near Oshitari's standard (Oshitari ranked within the top five by the end of his _first_ year). For another, Oshitari's style of play was akin to that of a seventeenth-century English gentleman of leisure—elegant, stylish and equipped with deliberately understated brilliance. Gakuto, on the other hand, was an exhibitionist of the flashiest kind, and girls and boys alike thronged the stands when he played, just to catch a glimpse of his famous acrobatic style.

They were poles apart in terms of style, but together, Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto were unstoppable. Somehow, Oshitari's laid-back style translated into a natural tendency to remain at the baseline and provide all-round support that allowed Gakuto to launch stunning attacks in his inimitable acrobatic style. Gakuto was the frontline, blinding their opponents with his sassy play and unusual moves; Oshitari was the silent, deadly ambush that lay in wait for their opponents, destroying them with devastating final blows after Gakuto's initial blitz. Gakuto was the first line of attack; Oshitari, the final line of defence.

Of course, it didn't mean that Oshitari didn't play singles; it meant simply that he played singles less often. Gakuto had never felt any dreadful guilt about it; if Yuushi was so grumpy about playing doubles, he could jolly well go and see _kantoku_ about it. Besides, Gakuto had to play singles too; he needed the practice to keep his place on the first team, after all.

Someone has been known to say that it was probably the water in Tokyo, because Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto are not the first same-sex, tennis-playing doubles duo from a Tokyo school to progress from schoolboys to kissing gourami.

But it has taken Oshitari and Gakuto years before they went beyond being friends. There have been a lot of girlfriends in between, both casual ones (for Gakuto, who felt himself too young to commit) and serious ones (for Oshitari, who was an awful romantic), and even a double date or two. Gakuto's favourite girlfriends are always the ones who are tall and gorgeous, with a kind of elegant air about them. He has always been easily bored with the cutesy, fragile-flower types. Oshitari's chosen girlfriends, on the other hand, have always been the vibrant, talkative, slightly spoilt type—exactly the kind of girl Gakuto hates, because he always ends up quarrelling with the girl and spoiling their double dates. Gakuto has always broken up with his girlfriends; Oshitari's girlfriends have always initiated their break-ups. Nobody has ever told either Oshitari or Gakuto that perhaps it's because their girlfriends have seen what neither of them recognizes—that they're looking for each other's replacement.

It takes Gakuto's unbridled temper, an Eve of New Year's Eve party, a call from Oshitari's then-girlfriend, and interference from one Atobe Keigo (the busybody, Gakuto thinks crossly), for both of them to change the way they look at each other.

After that, everything has been like a dream. A really good sort of dream, the kind laced with All Things Good. Yuushi is just the finest sort of person (Gakuto blushes to use the word 'lover' and 'boyfriend' is way too juvenile) ever—and a romantic sap to the ends of his fingertips, which pleases Gakuto, although he's never going to admit it to Yuushi. Gakuto famously hates fuss and feathers and syrupy sweetness, but it isn't because it's cavity-inducing that he hates it—he hates it because he's embarrassed to have to whisper sweet and honeyed nothings to someone. Gakuto likes being direct and thinks that words dressed-up are just that and nothing more. Anybody with a good dictionary, an excellent Japanese translation of Shakespeare's love sonnets or access to the Internet can come up with cloying phrases of love. But it's different when Yuushi says it, even if it comes with a sappy bouquet of roses and lilies, because there's something in those dark, clever eyes… something warm and special, for-Gakuto-only, that makes Gakuto's heart stop and then start again, all a-flutter.

Tomorrow will be their second anniversary. Just for that, Gakuto is going to put aside his no-sap policy. But he is also going to do more than just that and the platinum ring that weighs heavy in the little velvet box can attest to it.

Gakuto slides out of bed with a light thump, and pads quietly out of his room, slippers shuffling against the cold wooden parquet flooring.

Outside, the living room is completely dark, except for the glow of the tiny lights from the heater, and Gakuto can just barely make out Oshitari's lanky form curled up on the cream leather sofa.

"Yuushi?"

"I thought you were asleep." Oshitari's smile is surprised and sleepy, and he shifts slightly before patting the space next to him invitingly. "Hush… Shishido will kill us if we talk too loudly."

Gakuto plops himself on to the sofa and snorts. "Let him try." He represses a yawn and presses himself closer to Oshitari. "You're awfully tired, Yuushi. Why aren't you in bed?"

Oshitari gives a small shrug of his shoulders. "Just wanted to sit here for a little while. It's… quiet." He threads his fingers through Gakuto's and gives Gakuto's hand a squeeze.

It _is_ quiet indeed. The entire place is still, wrapped in the midnight gloom of the night and dotted with tiny points of the street lights and starlight that filter through the curtains.

Then again, it's probably about two in the morning by now. Gakuto's eyes wander to the grandfather clock in the corner. It has an elegant casing made of cherry wood, fearfully and wonderfully carved. Shishido Ryou, who is one of their apartment-mates, brought it with him from home, because it had stopped telling time, and his mother was going to throw it out. There's some sentimental value that Shishido attaches to it, and it's related to Ohtori Choutarou somehow, although Gakuto isn't quite sure just how.

Something shifts against Gakuto, and it tickles, taking his attention away from the clock.

Yuushi is fast asleep, his head tucked neatly in the warm nook between Gakuto's shoulder and chin, while the rest of him sprawls out, half-on the sofa, half off it.

Gakuto moves very, very slowly, so as not to wake Yuushi. It takes him eight whole minutes to re-adjust their position so that Yuushi is now comfortably laid out, full length stretched out all along the sofa as if it is his bed, and his head is resting in Gakuto's lap. Gakuto himself is ensconced quite snugly on the sofa, his back resting against the cream leather, and his feet propped up on the coffee table, and he's absently running his fingers through Yuushi's hair.

Tomorrow morning, when they wake up, Gakuto knows his legs will be dead asleep. But that's okay, because Yuushi is worth it. Gakuto smiles to himself as he closes his eyes and prepares to sleep.

Tomorrow will come soon.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

© 2006 Gold

**Title**: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In The Name of Love 2016

Otherwise Known As: Worth It (Sequel to Peacock's Thighs) Part 2/3

**Author: **Gold  
**Pairing:** Oshitari/Gakuto.  
**Rating:** PG.  
**Disclaimer: **_Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis _. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.

**Summary:** Sequel to Of Peacock's Thighs and Moonlit Balconies. Set two years later, in 2016. This part is Oshitari-centric, a mirror part to the earlier part. We see things from Oshitari's point of view, with some additional details. There are guest appearances from Gakuto, Atobe, Shishido, Jirou and Ohtori.  
**Additional:** Kissing gourami are a kind of fish. They have perpetually puckered lips and have this peculiar kissing habit... looks like kissing, anyway.

* * *

It is already eight in the evening when Oshitari Yuushi finally completes the last of his paperwork and steps across to the window. Outside, dusk has fallen, and the lights of the city are beginning to show up in the deepening twilight. It is now the end of December and the winter season is at its peak. Tokyo has just suffered another heavy snowfall overnight, most unprecedented, and the passers-by below trudge their way through mounds of the white stuff, while cars struggle to make their way.

It is the day before New Year's Eve, and Oshitari, who usually pulls night shifts and more, courtesy of both his youth and his determination to gain as much experience as possible in the hospital, is late for a party. He goes across to his locker and takes off his white coat, pulling on a thick woollen overcoat instead. The coat is a luxurious black angora wool overcoat, matching the dark blue tint of his hair perfectly. It was a present from Gakuto, and has already seen two winters, but Oshitari likes it all the better for its familiarity.

The snow outside is crisp and makes crunching sounds under Oshitari's shoes. He walks quickly, heading for the train station. It is a special day today, and he doesn't want to be too late. Gakuto, as always, will be extremely punctual, and his temper rises exponentially with every minute that Oshitari is late, even if today is a very special day. But this time, Oshitari Yuushi has with him something that will extinguish Gakuto's temper. In the right-hand pocket of the dark blue overcoat is a small, velvet-covered box. And nestled within the small box is a platinum ring, chunky in design, one-of-a-kind, and speckled with diamonds.

Oshitari's eyes are a very dark and intense, almost-black blue.

He has known Gakuto for a long time, since his junior high days, when he travelled from Kansai all the way to Tokyo to attend his father's alma mater, Hyoutei. Natives of Kansai are not exactly welcomed as part of the most elite of upper-crust Tokyo, but Oshitari had an advantage at Hyoutei that cleared all obstacles in his path to becoming part of the 'in' crowd: he was a close friend of Atobe Keigo, the son of the chairman of the school board of Hyoutei. Oshitari's status in Hyoutei was sealed when the monthly rankings of the Hyoutei Eligible Bachelors (Junior High Division) were released (this was one of the many projects of the RABU RABU club, a band of Hyoutei schoolgirls with a membership that spanned across all divisions of Hyoutei, and whose life mission was to check out cute Hyoutei boys) and he came in second, right after Atobe. Better still, Oshitari Yuushi would continue to hold that ranking until he graduated from Hyoutei.

At Hyoutei, Oshitari Yuushi met Mukahi Gakuto.

Oshitari remembers his very first conversation with Mukahi Gakuto. It was, of course, on the grounds of the tennis courts of Hyoutei.

It had been May then, and Oshitari was into his fourth week of tennis club practice. Club time had just ended, and the non-regulars were streaming in a crowd towards their club room. Oshitari did not join them; it was his habit to remain and watch the regulars practice. He noticed that he was not the only one of the freshmen who did so.

There was a boy with a lithe, muscular frame, and his crowning glory was his long hair, which rippled to his waist in a glossy, dark nut-brown waterfall when loosed, and which he usually kept tied back in a ponytail. He also had a rather pretty face for a boy, with fine-cut features, but his looks were suitably spoiled by the perennial scowl he wore. His name was Shishido Ryou and Oshitari only knew this because Shishido had ranked Number Ten on the list of the Hyoutei Eligible Bachelors (Junior High Division).

Then there was a sleepy-looking boy, also from Oshitari's year, one Akutagawa Jirou, who had the reputation of being able to nap anytime, anywhere. The only reason Akutagawa got away with napping in the sunniest of places on the bleachers was because he was a very good friend of Atobe Keigo, who was the only freshman allowed to practice with the regulars. By virtue of the fact that his father was the chairman of the school board at Hyoutei, Atobe consequently owned the school, but the reason why Atobe could practice with the regulars was because he was, simply, the best. Only two of the third-years—the top two ranking singles players—could touch Atobe in any match, one on one.

There was a third freshie there, someone who stood out because of his small and slight build (Oshitari towered several inches above him) and his unusual head of cranberry-red hair. He was always moving, almost dancing on his feet, and it seemed as if he could never keep still. He liked to sling his racket over one shoulder, caveman-like and belligerent, but there was an unconscious grace to his movements that easily attracted the eye. His name was Mukahi Gakuto.

From the beginning, Oshitari hadn't set out to attract Gakuto's attention. All he had done, really, was to make a sort of noise at a particularly excellent shot Atobe had just made. "Hmm."

The redhead had whipped his head around and glanced up at him. Oshitari had liked the way he looked, with his clear, bright eyes, that stubborn, pointed chin, and that mop of deep red hair. Mukahi was really rather good-looking and quite as pretty as Shishido, and Oshitari, as befitted a cultured gentleman, always appreciated beauty in any shape, size or form.

"Mukahi-_san_." Oshitari had smiled down at the redheaded boy.

Mukahi Gakuto had seemed startled that Oshitari even knew his name. Then he had tossed Oshitari a quick nod, lifting his chin. "Oshitari-_san_."

A long silence had followed this exchange as Mukahi had been more interested in watching Atobe Keigo coolly take two games in a row from Hyoutei's third-ranked singles player, whereas Oshitari had actually taken his eyes off the game now and then to watch Mukahi Gakuto. There had been something intriguing about the little redhead—little, because Mukahi was at least a whole head shorter than him, and although he was sturdy-looking, he was actually rather slender. Mukahi had been flipping his racket over and over his wrist at a remarkably fast speed as he watched Atobe play. Oshitari had wondered absently just how many years the redhead had played the sport.

"Five years."

Oshitari had blinked and realized that he had asked the question aloud without thinking.

The little redhead had looked up at him mulishly. "How long have _you_ been playing tennis?"

"Three years," Oshitari had answered simply. It had been Atobe who had introduced the game to him the first time they met.

Mukahi's response had been to widen his eyes in sheer disbelief. "What are you, a _tensai_?"

Well, _that_ wasn't a reply he had expected. Sure, lots of people called him a _tensai_ vis-à-vis tennis and quite a few other things besides, but Oshitari was fairly sure that Mukahi Gakuto had never watched him play before. He would have noticed the redhead immediately. "… what makes you say that?"

Mukahi had looked at him as if his intelligence had been insulted. "Well, _duh_, you hold your racket like Atobe-_san_."

Oshitari had found himself being surprised again. Mukahi Gakuto was… most unexpected. And evidently he was also very observant. But to compare him with the great Atobe Keigo—Oshitari had stifled a grin. He needed more material to needle Atobe with. "Really? How so?"

"Don't be an idiot," Mukahi had snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's not as if I can describe it in words. You just _look_ it. If you can hold the racket like Atobe-san, you probably can play just as well as he can. Not everybody can hold it like that, you know. Plus you _know_ what I mean, so stop pretending to be stupid, 'cause you're not. It's stupid to pretend to be stupid!"

Oshitari hadn't been able to stop grinning. The redhead was really extraordinarily cute. He looked about as meek and delicate as a lily, what with that perfect, pale skin that was set off by his cranberry-red hair, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was amusing as hell, clearly had the habit of saying whatever came straight to his mind and was equipped with just about the sassiest mouth Oshitari had ever come across. Oshitari decided then and there that he _really_ liked Mukahi Gakuto.

"You know, Mukahi-san…" Oshitari had raised his voice at the retreating redhead, who had flounced off and was rapidly vanishing out of earshot. "Would you like to play a game or two?"

The redhead's voice had floated back over his shoulder, loud and clear: "In case you didn't notice, Oshitari-san, there are no tennis courts here that we are allowed to play on."

"But there are street tennis courts," Oshitari had called back.

"No balls can bounce off that kind of surface, the way they treat it."

"Mukahi-san—" Oshitari had called out again.

"You two over there, shut up!"

Oshitari had arched an eyebrow. Right, so obviously Mukahi Gakuto wasn't the only one with a temper around there… Shishido Ryou, the one with the perennial scowl and waist-length hair, was clearly possessed of a fiery disposition as well.

And Mukahi Gakuto, not to be outdone, had roared right back: "Shut up yourself!"

Oshitari would always remember what happened next. Shishido Ryou had whipped out a tennis ball from his pocket, and put ball to racket. What followed later was sheer instinct on Oshitari's part, as the tennis ball flew, swift and golden, towards Gakuto. In a flash, Oshitari's racket had sent the ball flying back to Shishido, who had crowed "Missed!" in delight just as Gakuto snarled with fury from his end. Then Shishido had hit the ball back—and Oshitari Yuushi would never regret having stepped back to let Gakuto take the ball this time.

Mukahi Gakuto hadn't simply reached up and hit back the ball. No, instead, he had actually done a quick flip and a one-handed somersault, and his racket had then connected with the ball, sending it back to Shishido.

Oshitari's mouth had dropped open. He had never seen anything like that in his entire life. It had happened so fast that Oshitari couldn't help wondering then if he had just imagined it.

And suddenly, just like that, they were playing ball—he, Mukahi Gakuto and Shishido Ryou, in the stands that surrounded the hallowed tennis courts of Hyoutei. _Kantoku_, of course, had many things to say about it, including assigning them tedious clean-up duties for the rest of the year. But it marked the beginning of the friendship between Oshitari and Gakuto. Oshitari had somehow earned Gakuto's grudging respect—and Gakuto's respect was _very_ difficult to win—as well as the right to be called "Yuushi" way before anyone else in Hyoutei (Atobe Keigo made a bit of a fuss about this later, so Oshitari had to allow Atobe to call him "Yuushi" as well).

There were lots of differences between Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto. Physically, it was obvious where the disparities lay. Character-wise, however, they were also very different. Oshitari was the charming, stylish, mysterious boy who easily swept any girl off her feet through sheer 'cool' factor—and Gakuto was akin to a firecracker: sharp, explosive, brilliant and extremely colourful. In tennis, too, they were poles apart in style and ranking. Yet somehow, _kantoku_ had seen something in them, and hatched a devious plot to make them into a doubles partnership.

Neither Oshitari nor Gakuto are willing to shed light on this, and indeed both have firmly declined to comment whenever the issue is raised, but _kantoku_ had been right. Together, Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto were unstoppable, their tennis styles marrying together to form an explosive and extraordinarily successful doubles partnership that would be responsible for much of the silverware that decorated the glass-fronted cabinets in the Hyoutei tennis regulars' clubroom.

Of course, the existence of their doubles partnership did not mean that Oshitari had definitely stopped playing singles; it meant simply that he played singles less often, something which he was actually very happy to do, since it allowed him more time with Mukahi Gakuto, who gradually became his closest friend after Atobe Keigo. But it is difficult to pinpoint exactly when Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto crossed the line that separated nearly-best friends from kissing gourami.

Sometimes Oshitari wonders why he hasn't realized it before. He spoils Gakuto rotten, way more than any of his past girlfriends—way more than anyone, in fact. He is willing to stand in line for hours in the pouring rain at freezing temperatures in the dead of winter to get Gakuto limited-edition _natto_-filled dark chocolate pralines laced with edible gold dust. He obediently caters to Gakuto's penchant for the famous food trails of Yokohama's Chinatown, patiently popping by a thousand-and-one food stalls in Gakuto's wake, and gamely stuffing himself with the tidbits Gakuto presses on him, although he knows that such an excursion will lead to an upset stomach for at least three days thereafter. Oshitari has also never needed a special occasion to surprise Gakuto with a gift. He's always liked to surprise Gakuto just to see the pleasure and delight light up in that lively, expressive face. He and Gakuto can spend hours on end with each other, and they don't argue as much as most people might think, given Gakuto's famously short fuse—and when they _do_ argue, they rather enjoy it. Oshitari hates having Gakuto upset—not because Gakuto is a pain when he's all annoyed or distressed, but simply because it hurts Oshitari when Gakuto's out of sorts, so much so that Oshitari's quite willing to do anything that can set Gakuto back to rights again.

Yet there are many girlfriends and relationships in between before it takes a really silly argument, one of Atobe's parties, a call from Oshitari's then-girlfriend, a talking-to from Atobe Keigo (who still likes to poke his nose in wherever it isn't his business), and the fact that it is almost New Year's Eve, for both of them to change the way they look at each other.

After that, everything has been like a dream. It's as if a seal has been broken, and Oshitari feels like a tap inside him has finally been turned on, because nothing else can possibly explain the fact that an overwhelming flood of adoration for Mukahi Gakuto just seems to keep on flowing from inside him. Suddenly Gakuto's hair is his property too, and he can't keep his hands off it and he can't stop burying his nose in the cranberry-red strands, to sniff the various fruit-scents of the shampoos that Gakuto uses (honeydew-scented, apple-scented, even blackcurrant-scented, but mostly cranberry-scented), despite Gakuto's remonstrations. Suddenly he can't get close enough to Gakuto, to twine the other's fingers through his, to walk with their arms touching, or to curl up somewhere with an arm around Gakuto, or Gakuto's arm around him. Suddenly the most important part of his daily routine is to make sure that he wears something of Gakuto's to work every day—one of Gakuto's scarves, or one of Gakuto's many pairs of outlandish sunglasses, or the carved wooden necklace Gakuto bought from Bali, or the funky silver ring, etc. Suddenly nearly every store window has something that suits Gakuto and any store that doesn't is a bad, bad store. Suddenly Oshitari takes a leaf out of Atobe's book, and haunts the luxury stores of Ginza, even going so far as to pester Atobe to loan him his personal shopper just so Oshitari can get hold of items from the _really_ exclusive brands. And sometimes, it's as simple as picking up a fancy bouquet of roses and lilies, and presenting it to Gakuto, who generally grumbles and grouses something about being treated like a girl, but who likes it very, very much.

Today is their second anniversary, the day before New Year's Eve. There's a question that Oshitari wants to ask Gakuto, and he wants to do so before he flies back home to Kansai the next day for the New Year. It's a question that comes with an expensive and chunky platinum ring set with diamonds—six tiny square-cut ones, to be exact—from an exclusive jeweller who counts Atobe Keigo amongst his well-shod clientele. Oshitari's been in love with Gakuto for years upon years, perhaps even from the first moment he laid eyes on that intriguing little redhead. And Oshitari's not stupid; Gakuto pretty much adores him right back.

It's about time they make it official.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In The Name of Love 2016

Otherwise Known As: Worth It (Sequel to Peacock's Thighs) Part 3/3

**Author: **Gold  
**Pairing:** Oshitari/Gakuto.  
**Rating:** PG.  
**Disclaimer: **_Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis _. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.

**Summary:** Sequel to Of Peacock's Thighs and Moonlit Balconies. Set two years later, in 2016.  
**Warning: **Unabashed sap. I actually injected a dose of reality here, took it out for a sappier ending, and then shoved it back in again.

* * *

Atobe Keigo runs a tight ship. He is a ruthless and remarkably canny investor, a shark at the mergers and acquisitions table, the formidable mainstay of the sprawling Atobe business mega-empire, a crack tennis player who can best the world's top pro tennis players in a one-set match on his best of days (just ask Tezuka Kunimitsu, Echizen Ryoma, Yukimura Seiichi or Sanada Genichirou)—and he is also a very, very good friend to the people he considers close to him.

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. So today, Atobe is hosting his umpteenth annual get-together for his exclusive little coterie, plus the usual invited guests. There will be an extraordinary buffet spread, where Atobe's team of personal chefs will tempt the palates of the guests with a myriad of cuisines that hail from the four corners of the globe. There will be good-natured ribbing, lots of photographs being shown around, a little bit of grumbling about how they've just seen each other a week ago at Atobe's Christmas Day party and here they are stuffing their face again, comparisons of fresh data and several impromptu karaoke sessions accompanied by a lot of good red wine from Atobe's best cellars. There will also be a few midnight sessions of tennis, once they're done with the alcohol and the dinner's been suitably digested. Someone will probably suggest a dip in Atobe's open-air _onsen_ (the one that can easily hold two Olympic-size swimming pools) despite the freezing temperatures, and likely everybody will grab a towel, strip and pile in. And there will be swimming races in the _onsen_ again, and childish water games that involve sitting on shoulders and snatching towels from opposing teams.

All right—perhaps it would be more prudent to put the red wine away and serve them fruit juice instead.

It is half-past nine when Oshitari finally knocks on Atobe's front door.

The butler shows him in immediately and tells him that Master Keigo is available to see him. Oshitari obediently sheds his coat, which is handed over to a waiting housemaid. The butler takes it upon himself to escort Oshitari up the stairs. On the way, they pass by the suite of rooms where the party is being held. Oshitari pokes in his head carefully, just to take a quick glimpse of the crowd, to see if a certain someone is somewhere within.

"Yo, Hiroshi, you're back. You changed dyed your hair blue, huh?" Niou Masaharu raises a glass of red wine to Oshitari, smiling beatifically. "Have some. This is goooooooooooooooooooood…."

Clearly, Niou has had more wine than is good for him. Oshitari nods to him in response (because there is no point arguing with a drunk) and his eyes dart around quickly.

"Mukahi-san isn't here," pipes up someone else—Aoi Kentarou, in a horrible Hawaiian shirt and matching loud shorts, with a lurid pink mask hanging around his neck. "And I'm Elvis Presley from _Blue Hawaii_!"

Oshitari mentally makes a note to tell Atobe that the idea of a masquerade is great, but the theme is _not_. "Thanks."

"Don't you like my costume?" demands Aoi Kentarou, doing a bizarre little twirl.

"It's very colourful. Very suitable," Oshitari answers truthfully. Then he beats a hasty retreat. There is no cranberry-red head in sight and anyway, he is in a bit of a hurry.

Atobe is in his study, already decked out in a magnificent black tuxedo with dark purple lapels, a cummerbund of silver silk, patterned all over with snowflakes embroidered in white silk, and a cravat of heavy lavender-and-gold silk. "Well, the prodigal son returns. You're late and Gakuto's in a deplorable mood."

Oshitari winces. "Have you seen him anywhere?"

Atobe shrugs his shoulders. "He's nowhere near The Room, if that's what you're asking. No flowers for apologizing?"

"Not for you," Oshitari shoots back. "Is The Room ready?"

Atobe gives him a scornful glance. "It's been completely guarded from any intrusion since you locked the doors at four this afternoon and rushed back to work."

Oshitari sighs a little, and runs one hand through his hair. "I didn't plan for that to happen, honestly."

Atobe rolls his eyes. "The vicissitudes of life, yes. Go and apologise to Gakuto, not to _Ore_-_sama_."

Oshitari purses his lips. "Well, where can I find him on this twenty-acre estate of yours?"

"Probably somewhere sulking," Atobe tells him flatly. "You will be notified when we've found Gakuto. Please don't do something as stupid as leaving your mobile phone somewhere inaccessible."

Oshitari raises an eyebrow. This is rude, even for Atobe. "Something the matter?"

Atobe doesn't even deign to toss him a glance. "Nothing that _Ore_-_sama_ can't handle. Go, before you miss the right time."

"Promise me you'll tell me later." Oshitari's eyes are keen, and he misses nothing.

Atobe glances up. "_Ore_-_sama_ cannot make any promises, Yuushi. But thank you."

The Room is the place where Oshitari and Gakuto first sorted out how they felt about each other—or rather, it is the room with the balcony where Oshitari first sweet-talked Gakuto into going on their first date. Not surprisingly, Oshitari has a special affection for that room.

When Oshitari steps on to the balcony, he notes that it is mostly untouched. There is the small round antique pedestal table covered with snowy damask table linen (borrowed from Oshitari's sister) that Oshitari himself has set there earlier that day, complete with fine porcelain, silver cutlery, a gleaming candelabra all alight, and a crystal vase simply bursting with an exquisite arrangement of roses and lilies. The Waterford champagne flutes are there too, and Oshitari easily spots the silver ice bucket and the waiting bottle of champagne. But—

"Gakuto?"

Mukahi Gakuto is standing there, mouth agape with astonishment.

Oshitari's brow wrinkles in a frown; isn't Atobe supposed to keep Gakuto away first?

"Yuushi—you did all this?" Gakuto's eyes are suspiciously bright.

Oshitari slides one hand into his trousers pocket and walks forward, smiling. "Well, except for the champagne in the ice bucket. I guess Atobe had someone bring it up here." He reaches out to clasp Gakuto's hand. "Happy anniversary, Gakuto. Shall we?"

As if by magic, Atobe's butler, appropriately snooty, materializes barely a second after they take their seats. He bears two large, covered dishes, which he proceeds to set before them with a flourish.

Oshitari knows what will happen next; he has planned the menu, after all.

Sure enough, Gakuto gives a little gasp of astonishment as soon as the butler lifts the silver lid off his dish.

A chunky platinum ring sits on a small and very plump velvet cushion in the middle of the cold porcelain dish, reflecting light off the numerous facets of the six tiny, square-cut diamonds set into it.

Somewhere, the lilting strains of part of the second movement from Mozart's _Eine Klein Nachtmusik_ begin to play (it's actually Ohtori Choutarou valiantly performing a 'live' solo two balconies away with an entire sound system in tow, but Gakuto finds this out only later).

"Will you marry me?" (Originally, Oshitari had thought of giving a long and flowery speech, but it is entirely possible that Gakuto's eyes might just glaze over midway through it).

Gakuto's head is bowed and he appears to be utterly speechless.

"Gakuto?"

As if in answer, Gakuto raises his head very slowly. He is biting his lower lip, but in a way that tells Oshitari that he's actually trying hard not to smile, and Oshitari's heart, which has hitherto been in his mouth, immediately plops back into his chest in relief. Gakuto is _smiling_, thank goodness.

Then the unexpected happens.

Gakuto pushes something into Oshitari's hand.

It is a velvet-covered box, Tiffany blue in colour, and when the lid pops open, Oshitari catches his breath. For inside lies a handsome, broad platinum band, set with a single brilliant, square-cut solitaire diamond.

This, then, is Gakuto's answer. Or question, depending on how you look at it.

Gakuto leans across the table, reaching for the little box in Oshitari's palm, and he takes out the ring with the solitaire diamond. He takes Oshitari's hand and slips the ring on to Oshitari's engagement ring finger. Then he sits back expectantly.

Oshitari knows what Gakuto is waiting for. He reaches across (he has longer limbs than Gakuto, so he need not lean across the table) and picks up the chunky platinum ring from its plump velvety bed. He gently slides it over Gakuto's engagement ring finger, admiring the sparkle of the six small diamonds as they catch the light.

It is all perfectly romantic. The balcony where they first plighted their troth, the warm glow of candlelight, the moon beaming benignly overhead, the sweet strains of one of Mozart's finest compositions wafting in like sweet incense on the evening breeze…

"Yuushi."

"Hmm?"

"Can we have dinner now?"

"…"

"I'm really hungry. I haven't had anything to eat since lunch. I got lost in one of the stupid kitchens when I was trying to find something to eat. Did you know that this place has five kitchens?"

"…"

"Anyway, the one I went to had nobody inside, so I tried to cook something on my own 'cause I was hungry and everything was raw, but it set off the fire alarms and sprinklers. It wasn't my fault, you know—Atobe's kitchens are crazy things. The oven is so big you could cook me in it and never notice, there's a whole barbecue pit in there that can roast up to ten chickens at the same time, and there's even this weird stove with a big, deep hole inside that holds boiling water. I don't even know what it's for and I don't want to know. And it took me two hours to get clean, 'cause I had to wash my clothes and I didn't want to destroy the laundry room too… and when I was done, I had to wait for half an hour before I could see Atobe and he just chased me up here."

"…"

"It's also really cold out here, so it's better if we eat something."

"…"

"Yuushi, say something."

"…"

"Yuushi? Are you listening to me?"

"Gakuto…"

"Yeah?"

"…"

"_What_, Yuushi?"

There is an almost undetectable sigh from Oshitari. "We could go down and join the party. I'm sure it hasn't ended yet and there's quite a lot of food there."

"…"

"Gakuto?"

"… couldn't we get someone to bring some food up here?"

Oshitari tilts his head. "Yes, of course…"

Gakuto hunches a little in his seat. "… I … don't mind eating here…"

… which is Gakuto's way of conceding that he likes it there.

"Of course, if you want to go down, it's a good idea too," adds Gakuto quickly. He is staring at his empty dish rather dolefully, and Oshitari has to stifle a laugh.

"Gakuto…"

"Hunh?"

"I'll ask Atobe to send someone up with food. I did plan to have dinner right after this, you know."

"Really?" Gakuto perks up.

"Yes. These things here—the cutlery and all that—aren't just for display, you know."

"What're we having then?"

"You'll see."

The butler arrives not five seconds after Oshitari makes a call, accompanied by a prim-looking maid. The candelabra and vase are removed to the side, and so are the empty dishes on the table. The champagne is removed from the ice bucket (where it has lain, forgotten, for quite some time), and the two champagne flutes are filled with the sparkling fluid. A small bottle of fine, light sherry is also produced, as are two sherry glasses, which are quickly filled and placed on the table. Following that, the maid sets a number of small, covered silver dishes before them.

"It smells really good…" Gakuto stares hungrily at the covered dishes. "I wonder what this is… and this… and this…"

The maid uncovers the dishes, one after another, announcing the names of each dish, and with each successive uncovering, Gakuto's eyes grow rounder and wider, and he nearly begins drooling visibly.

"Creamy apple cubes." There is a dish of apples, peeled and cubed, completely covered with the kind of thick cream that is usually used for cakes.

"Carpaccio of scallops." The scallops are fresh, thinly sliced and arranged in a seashell pattern on the dish, then seasoned with sea salt, lemon juice and sesame oil. Two small saucers, one containing _wasabi_ and the other holding soy sauce, sit on the sides of the dish as condiments.

"Salt-baked chicken, breaded and spiced, with vegetables." The chicken comes in large, delicious-looking chunks, with a slightly saffron-red tinge (thanks to the spices), on a bed of mushrooms, parsley and long stalks of spring onions. A rich, peppery smell emanates from it.

"Chef's specialty: roast red pork in a secret sauce." The pork comes in sizeable pieces, and glows like red embers. It has been perfectly cooked in such a way that there are almost no charred pieces at all.

"Red dates with sticky rice." This savoury dish is heaped with red dates, each plump with glutinous rice that seems to have been stuffed into the skin of the red dates before being cooked.

Oshitari watches with amusement and a fair bit of anticipation as Gakuto makes his first attack on the food, right after the butler and maid have barely turned their backs to leave. The menu had been put together by Oshitari after sampling several potential dishes prepared by Atobe's team of chefs. After trying out a variety of different cuisines, the decision had been taken to have East-West fusion cuisine.

Circumstances prove that Oshitari's choice is absolutely correct.

One bite of the apple cubes covered with the rich icing, and—"Yuushi, I love you!"— Gakuto falls with undisguised fervour upon the rest of the meal.

Oshitari hides a fond smile behind a quick sip of light sherry. He glances at the champagne, which has remained untouched thus far. They have forgotten to celebrate the traditional sealing of an engagement—with a kiss and champagne—

A sudden blaze of colourful lights flare up all around them.

Gakuto and Oshitari exchange perplexed glances.

"What's going on?" demands Gakuto.

"I don't know."

With one accord, they get up from the table and proceed to look out over the balustrades of the balcony, Gakuto nearly hanging off the balcony, while Oshitari has one arm around Gakuto's waist to secure him.

The night sky is alight with exploding fireworks as far as the eye can see. Somewhere, _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_ fades away unobtrusively, giving way to what appears to be an entire orchestral rendition of Beethoven's _Ode to Joy_. And down below, right underneath their balcony and three storeys down there—

"_CONGRATULATIONS!"_

It sounds like a roar from a thousand throats... except that it comes from perhaps thirty to forty throats, standing in groups around a number of microphones thoughtfully provided for them. Another display of fireworks immediately comes in on cue, spelling out the words "CONGRATULATIONS" in fiery and brilliant hues.

Gakuto stares in dismay at the crowd of people below, all of whom are really familiar to him. Some are raising glasses and drinking with gusto; others are hollering good wishes over the microphones, resulting in a cacophony of noise that has to be heard to be believed. "Yuushi, I hope you're not responsible for this."

Oshitari chuckles and tightens his arm around Gakuto. "It's just Atobe, and he has good intentions, Gakuto. Don't be too angry with him."

"I won't." Gakuto purses his lips. "It's just that it feels like this should be our private moment, you know?"

"The kitchen," Oshitari reminds him.

Gakuto pauses. "Yeah. Okay. So maybe I nearly destroyed part of one of his five kitchens, but... that's just not fair of him." He grimaces. "Anyway, I'm not going to go down there."

"We can stay up here." Oshitari smiles down fondly at Gakuto. "There's food, champagne... and the récamiers make nice beds."

Gakuto turns his head back to look at the table, still groaning under the weight of the dishes. "Yeah. Oi, Yuushi?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's watch that movie after dinner."

"All right."

They did this on their first anniversary and presumably will continue to do it: watch the movie that they saw on their first date together, in Atobe's private cinema.

As they take their seats back at the table, Oshitari notices a somewhat distant look on his fiance's face (fiancé is such a nice word, Oshitari thinks, especially because it means Gakuto is _his_, all his). "What are you thinking about, Gakuto?"

Gakuto pillows his chin on his right palm. "This means we're going to be married, right?" He doesn't look at Oshitari, but keeps his gaze fixed on his plate.

"Yes." Oshitari wonders where this is going. He hopes that it doesn't mean Gakuto's about to get cold feet before they even start planning the wedding. (Wedding is a word that has a nice ring to it, too, in Oshitari's opinion).

Gakuto glances up. "Your parents..."

Oshitari's parents have never approved of the fact that their son has fallen in love with someone of his own gender. It is as if on Monday, their son was heterosexual, and on Tuesday, he woke up and decided that he wasn't straight, after all. Oshitari's sister, on the other hand, has supported them unconditionally, and continues to do so (currently Gakuto is relieved that she appears to find more amusement in torturing Shishido Ryou).

"They'll get over it," Oshitari answers, with all the callowness and callousness of youth, and a casualness he does not really feel. He still has standing fights with his parents almost every day about this for the last two years, but he's not about to give up Gakuto. Oshitari is a romantic soul at heart; he still believes in giving up everything for love, even though it keeps him awake some nights while he ponders the bitter reality that his parents may never speak to him again. Gakuto, in this respect, is luckier; his family is more accepting of the situation (or is it more resigned?).

Gakuto bites his lip. "It's just that... I don't believe in forever like you do, Yuushi."

Oshitari waits quietly. Gakuto has more to say, he knows.

"I don't know what will happen tomorrow. It's not that I don't... care... enough, it's just that so many people..." His voice trails off and he gazes almost moodily at the half-eaten bite of salt-baked, spiced chicken sitting in the middle of his plate. "Funny how I never thought of this before. Oi, Yuushi..."

"Yes, Gakuto?"

"... just... if you like someone else some day, and you don't want... and, just let me know, okay? I won't stop you."

Oshitari's eyes widen. "Gakuto!"

"I mean it." Gakuto's brows are furrowed and he looks as if he's addressing the chicken very seriously. "I don't want to tie you down. I mean, I'm not going to let anyone have you, but if you want to, then—"

Oshitari interrupts him, reaching across the table to catch hold of Gakuto's hand. "Gakuto, stop. Listen. Other people—let them handle their own problems. _We_ are not the same. We're making this work, Gakuto. Even if you say you don't believe in forever, I do—and I've got enough belief for the two of us. Just promise me something."

"... what?"

"That you won't give me up without a fight."

Gakuto's breath hitches.

Oshitari tightens his hold on Gakuto's hand. "Relationships need both people to work. I won't let you give me up without a fight, and you promise me you won't just give me up without a fight. And if you can't believe in forever at this moment, at least promise me you believe in _now_. That's two promises—will you give me your word?"

Gakuto swallows hard, then nods.

Oshitari exhales. "You do love me, Gakuto?"

Gakuto flushes deeply, and then nods again, very quickly, just once.

"Good. Then the wedding's still on."

"Yuushi."

"Hmm?"

"Let's just stop thinking and eat." Gakuto holds up a forkful of salt-baked, spiced chicken. "Here. I'm not gonna be the only one pigging out."

Oshitari opens his mouth obediently to let Gakuto feed him. This is enough for now, Oshitari thinks. Weddings and things—he'll talk to Gakuto about it later. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after. Oshitari's eyes rest on the sparkling, six-diamond ring on Gakuto's finger. For now, he's going to teach Gakuto the meaning of forever.

* * *


End file.
